


Sunshine

by Tak138



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Frostbite, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery, Single Father, Slavery, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, male sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138
Summary: There's only so much to life for a whore, as the so-called Vivienne has discovered. For him, life has always been sex, pain, and making sure his son gets a hot meal.Until a strange woman makes an appearance, and things change forever.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 143





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Sanguia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguia/pseuds/sanguia) for beta'ing.

“You have another appointment.” 

Vivienne opens an eye from where he leaned against the door frame, vision blurry and swaying. 

“What?” he rasps. His mouth still tastes of blood and men. 

Stefan, one of his few friends among the staff, watches him with sympathy scrawled across his face. “You’ve got another client in five minutes. A woman this time, she chose your name out of the catalogue.” 

His stomach sinking, Vivienne squeezes his eyes shut. “You’ve got to be joking. Four in one day — is — is that a new record for me?”

“Maybe,” Stefan says softly, “I would take it for you, but…”

“But they picked me,” he finishes. That usually meant they only want one thing, and it probably isn’t sex. He would never ask anyone to fill his place. 

A dull throbbing burns in the back of his skull, blood still leaking from a slash across his back. 

“Are you good for it?” asks Stefan. “I can tell Lydia —”

“No, no I’m okay,” he whispers, “Just… Oliver?”

“He’s fine. Tella’s got him, he’ll be okay.”

Vivienne releases a heaving sigh. Tella was probably the only one that could wrangle his boy for more than twenty minutes. 

“How long did she book?”

“Two hours.”

He bites his lip against a filthy curse, and wipes his hands across his face. “Cleaning’s going to be a nightmare,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” breathes Stefan, genly grabbing his shoulder, “Don’t worry about cleaning. I’ll take care of it.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Stef.”

“You don’t have to. No one wants either of you sleeping in a dirty bed, and I filled my quota for the day. I’ll get on it as soon as you’re finished.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue. Already, his knees are beginning to wobble. “Thank you,” Vivienne says earnestly, “If I get any tips today or tomorrow, you’ll get them.”

Stefan snorts, “No thanks, you need all the money you can get. I’m just happy to help.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he swallowed, and meant it. He didn’t know what he would do without Stefan’s assistance. 

“That’s me,” he laughed, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Go lie down, catch your breath before she comes in.”

“Do I look alright?”

“Handsome as ever. Now go on.”

Despite himself, Vivienne smiles as he retreats into his room. The bed is still a mess, the sheets smeared with red and clothes scattered across the floor. He tries not to feel ashamed of it. Of the disarray his customers must witness as they walk in. The other whores keep their rooms immaculate. 

Of course, the other whores are usually booked for less than twenty minutes at a time and can usually reject customers at will. He gets so little as it is that he doesn’t even dare.

That and they don’t usually have to clean blood off of white linens. 

So Vivienne lies down, wincing in pain, and tries to calm himself by staring at the ceiling. There are little drawings there, strung up on twine and scribbled with charcoal on scrap pieces of paper. He tries not to look at them, not to think of his son on the story above. It feels debauched.

Two hours is a really long session, especially for his line of work. Hopefully Oliver doesn’t get into too much trouble; Lydia already threatened to get rid of them once and Vivienne doesn’t dare test her hand.

He wonders what the woman intends to do with him, and then stops immediately. If he starts to think about it he’ll lose his nerve. He can’t afford to lose any customers, even the ones that cut as his thighs with their knives or whip him with their belts. Old as he is, worn out and stretched thin, it was the only sort of work he could get. 

There’s a light knock on the door, and a shiver jolts down his spine. “Come in,” he calls. He tries to make his voice soft, sultry like one of the women. In reality, it must sound like breaking glass. The door opens to the bright hallway, and a lithe figure slips inside. The light outside is fading, leaving the room in a cold blue, but he can still make out the light blond of her hair and and the fairness of her skin. 

“Are you Vivienne?” her voice is cold, like two knives grinding along one another. In his chest his heart flips.

“I am,” he purrs, slowly pushing himself upright and crossing one leg over the other. Her eyes don’t follow them, don’t slide across his bare chest or thighs. Even in his scarred state some still find him beautiful from afar, what with the bronzed skin and red hair. He can usually tell right off the bat whether or not that’s that case and this woman… does not seem interested in his body.

_ Bad sign. _

“Why were you so cheap?” asks the woman, her brow tight like a knot. “Are you… diseased?”

There’s an accent to her voice that he almost recognizes. He’s heard it fairly often, but her’s is deeper. More pronounced. 

“I assure you Miss, the doctor gave me a clean bill of health,” he chimes.

“Then why are you forty gold cheaper than the others?”

He holds back a groan of frustration, combing his fingers through his hair and wincing a bit where the skin is split. The last man must have yanked harder than he thought. “I am the oldest whore here,” he says smoothly, “Most experienced.”

“How old?”

She hasn’t moved a muscle. Hasn’t even really blinked. 

Hesitantly, he admits, “Thirty three.”

Her brows go up then, her lips twisting into a half grin. “That is considered old here?”

Very old. The only other whore even close to his age was twenty seven. Hell, Stefan was barely twenty two.

“Yes Miss. Most boys leave here around twenty five. It’s the end of their prime, so to speak.”

The woman hums, and at last begins to shed her coat, dropping her traveler’s bag to the floor. “So why are you still here?”

That’s an easy answer, at least. Vivienne grins, wide and forced, “Because I’m good at what I do. I can… take more than the others can.”

_ Because the people here are cruel and Lydia cares more for the others than she does me. _

She nods thoughtfully, and off come the boots. “Is that what that is?” she asks, and points to a blood stain on the bed.

He laughs, and even to his ears it sounds miserable. “Exactly, Miss. Whatever your heart desires, I’m here to fulfill.”

“Lie down,” she commands. Vivienne flops back and promptly regrets it, hissing as agony like a burning sun lancing through him. “What was that?” demands the woman. “You are wounded?”

“Just a scratch,” he says, smiling through his teeth, “It’s nothing to fret about, I assure you, Miss.”

But her face is hard again, eyes sharp as daggers. “Roll over.”

“Miss —” he tries. The woman cuts him off with one finger, twirls it like she might at a dog.

“Roll over.”

For a moment he doesn’t. For a moment, Vivienne lies there frozen. Wondering if she will make him. If she’ll grab him by the ankles and flip him onto his belly. She doesn’t. She just stands there at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over her chest. Maybe they can just stay here for the whole two hours.

Of course, the thought makes him feel guilty about wasting her time and money, so he slowly rolls onto his belly. There is silence for a moment, before the woman let's out a heavy breath.

“That is more than a scratch. What is the cause?”

“I… I’m not sure,” he murmurs, and it’s the truth, his last appointment is just a blur at this point. “It might be from a belt? 

“A belt,” echoes the woman, and she sounds horrified. “Is that… is that what you favor? Pain?”

Vivienne forces himself to sigh, languidly rolling his shoulders as he coos, “I favor whatever you want me to, Miss. Whatever makes my customers happy.”   
  


“It may need stitches. May I touch?”

_ It better not. I don’t have the money to spare for that. _

“Touch?” he repeats, then blinks. “Of course.”

The bed shifts as she climbs on and settles down at his side. Her finger descend on his back and he cringes on instinct, even… even though it doesn’t hurt.

“Apologies,” says the woman. Her fingers are rough to the touch, slowly prodding along his back. Then they come to that lash on his back. “Bad. It is bad.”

He tries to laugh, though it make his head ache. “It’s small, Miss. How bad can it be?”

“Small?” she says, and from the corner of his eye he sees her shake her head. "It is not small.”

He feels two fingers, one on either side of the pained area, and then she holds them up. They’re at least a foot apart from each other. His mind goes blank

_ Fuck. Fuck.  _

“Uh oh,” is all he can think to say, something that always followed Oliver tripping and skinning his knee.

“It will need stitches. You should see your Madame.”

Vivienne can’t respond. Can hardly think over the sudden hammering of his heart.

_ No, no I can’t because she charges me a thousand times worse than everyone else, and I want to eat tonight. _

His skin prickles under her gaze. Gods, be wishes she would just act like everyone else and just not care.

  
  


“I’m sure it’s fine,” he chokes at last, “I’ve had plenty worse.”

“You are bleeding still.”

“It’s fine. I can — I can deal with it, it’s not that bad, I —”

She holds her hands closer to his face. Blood gleams on her fingers. A lot of it.

“It is no longer a request. I will retrieve your Madame.” She begins climbing off, moving away. 

“No!” he yelps, grabbing her arm. “No, no you can’t! She’ll have my head on a pike.”

“Because you are wounded?” the woman huffs, disbelieving.

“She doesn’t like me, she’s going to make me pay for them,” Vivienne babbles, “I can’t afford it, I can’t afford it, I need to eat,  _ my boy _ needs to eat, please don’t get her.”

The woman scowls at him, at the place their hands are touching. “That was your boy I saw you with?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathes, only because it sounds like she might be relenting, “Yes, and he needs to eat. Please don’t get her, I’ll do whatever you want. No limits.”

_ Not that there were any to begin with. _

She sighs, long and heavy, fixing him with eyes that remind him of a wolf. “Whatever I want?”

He nods urgently, “Whatever you want. I can be whoever you want, do whatever you want, just tell me.”

The woman nods thoughtfully, chewing on her cheek. “Then I have a request.”

“Anything!” he gasps.

“Let me stitch up your back.”

Vivienne pauses, his mind momentarily skipping a beat. “Excuse me?”

“You could bleed out before the night is over,” she tells him, “Allow me to stop that from happening.”

“Bleed out…?” he murmurs, “Um…”

“I have the supplies in my pack. Will you allow me?”

“I… yeah. Yeah I guess.” he mumbles. “What’s your price?”

“Nothing. Just sit still.”

The woman moves away, opening her bag. Vivienne can only lie there, heart pounding, and watch as the woman lights a few of the candles. There’s splashing liquid, something being cut.

“What is your boy’s name?” she asks as she comes back over. In her hand is a needle and thread. He stares at it, at her, fear prickling his chest. 

“Why do you ask?”

“To get your mind elsewhere.”

She leans over him and he jolts as she touches the torn skin.

Quietly, he says, “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Okay,” she agrees, smooth as silk. “May I ask how old he is?”

That’s easier, less private, so Vivienne sighs, “He’ll be six come the solstice.”

“A little one, then,” she muses, “Take a deep breath, I’m going to begin.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. I have performed this many times, on myself and others. Are you ready?”

_ No. No, no, nononono — _

“Yes, I —”

The needle pierces his skin like white hot fire. Vivienne wheezes with the force of it, burying his face in the sheets. 

“Easy,” the woman whispers, her hand coming to rest at the base of his neck. “I will go fast, I will not make mistakes. Do you trust me?”

_ Not in a thousand years. _

“Yes,” he pants, “Yes I trust you.”

And then it’s running through his skin again, and again, and again. So fast he can’t even shriek for each puncture. Just mewl pathetically in his own damn bed, squeaking and gasping and clawing at the mattress. 

The woman whispers things to him that he can’t hear, can’t understand. Over and over and over the needle goes through his flesh, pulling tighter, pulling taut. Tears blur his vision and fall freely into the pillow. 

Then it’s over. His entire body goes slack as she cuts that final thread and wipes away the blood. It wouldn't have been more than five minutes and yet it feels like it’s been a thousand years.

The woman is gently scratching at his hair, the nape of his neck. “It is okay,” she whispers, “It is all right. You did well.”

He laughs, the sound more like a sob. “I accept tips, you know.”

She scoffs, but it's more like a chuckle than anything. They stay there for a few minutes, her cooing over him, him gasping for breath. When silence falls, when the sky is dark and it’s just them and the candle, he glances towards the clock on the wall. Less than twenty minutes have passed.

Softly, the woman asks, “What did you mean earlier when you said you could not afford to get stitches. That you and your boy have to eat.”

Sighing, Vivienne wipes his face. The movement has pain curling through his bones and he has to fight not to cry out. “The whores — they have a quota they need to fill,” he breathes, “Money wise. Most whores can get away with one or two customers a night. But I... “

“You have your son.”

He swallows, hands shaking as he brushes his hair from his face. “Yeah. So mine’s nearly double that, and I rarely get more than two customers a night. Not to mention I’m cheap as dirt. You would think that would bring in more customers but it seems to just make them more wary," he lets out a heavy breathing, shaking his head. "As long as whatever you make is more than the cost of making a meal, you get to eat, you just get yelled at. To get stitches, Lydia would have to call in a doctor and… charge me more than four nights of work.”

The woman huffs, “She sounds like a wicked, wicked woman.”

“She is,” he grunts, “But she let me keep my son.”

She nods, sitting back against the headboard. “So, what will happen if I leave now.”

He swallows, throat dry enough that it hurts. “You’d get refunded for the time you didn’t use.”

“So… I would be taking most of the money you were supposed to make from this.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, guess I am staying for awhile.”

Swallowing hard, Vivienna tries to push himself up. “I can still — I can still perform, Miss. I can, it’s not that bad, I —”

“Hush. I have no interest in causing further trouble.”

“I just don’t want you to waste your money,” he whispers. 

“I have money to burn, Vivienne. Do not worry. Maybe next time.”

“... Next time?”

She looks at him, her expression softening just a tad. “Yes, Next time. I will be in town for a few weeks more. Perhaps I will stop by again.”

“I know I haven’t shown you a proper good time, but I am good at it. If you don’t, you know, look at me.”

She barks out a laugh, and it surprises him so much that he cringes. But then her hand is in his hair again, gently petting him. As if he was a prized consort and not the basement-brew version of a prostitute. Vivienne can’t help but sigh, his body going loose despite the aching pain of his back. 

“I think you are quite attractive,” says the woman, “A little… mistreated. But you are handsome.”

_ A little mistreated. What a nice way of putting it _

He smiles slightly, leaning into her hand. She’s so unbelievably gentle, it’s hard not to just fall asleep.

“How long have you been here?” she asks him.

“A while,” he chuckles, “The years sort of run together. Um, probably nearly fifteen.”

“That is definitely a long time.”

“Definitely. Believe it or not, I used to be the favorite around here. I’ve still got the skill too.”

“How did you end up on the whipping post?”

He shrugs, “I got my boy. I had less time to dedicate to my customers. People started leaving marks. And then more. And then Lydia stopped caring and let people use me as they please.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is my lot in life.”

He isn't sure why he's talking to her like this. Why he stopped calling her Miss. She's just… very easy to talk to. Easier than one would think, with that face of hard stone. And no one has really tried to speak with him for so long. Even Stefan just asks him if he's alright. Not that he doesn't appreciate it, of course, but it's nice to actually have someone want to hear what you say. Even if he suspects she might be humoring him.

They stay like that for a long time, her fingers never seeming to tire as they scratch and scratch. Somehow never brushing those wounded places. He dozes off more than once, blinking between one second and the next. 

Finally, the two hours are up. 

"I'm really sorry," Vivienne says as she helps him up, "Next time, I'll show you how great I can be."

"I look forward to it," she snorts, and pulls out a handful of coins from her pocket. "You said you take tips?"

He blinks in surprise, his face flushing a violent red. "Oh, I was joking about that, Miss. I could never ask you for a tip after that."

"I did not hear you ask," she says as she tucks the pieces into his hand. Twenty five silver pieces. Twenty five whole silver coins. Halfway to a gold. This was — this was a whole meal.

"Oh my gods, no," he breathes, "I can't, really I can't. Please take it back, I —"

She grabs his hand, trembling as it was, and lightly kisses his cheek. "Save up for your boy. Get him something nice."

His throat swells painfully, eyes lining with silver. "I don't… I don't know what to say. I'll see you again?"

"Yes. Soon."

"Then I'll make all of this worth it. I swear, I  _ swear _ ."

The woman smiles as she picks up her bag, "See you in a bit, Vivienne."

"You too," he replies. She leaves, and Vivienne hides the coins beneath a loose floorboard with the rest of his tips. He washes up and gets dressed. 

After that, he goes to the dining room, the most unreal feeling flitting through him. He limps, grasping at the back of chairs and the edge of tables to steady himself, even though his back throbs and burns, he doesn't... feel tired. Doesn't feel like he just went through hell. 

Oliver is sitting at one of the empty tables, his ragged stuffed cat under one arm, chatting with a woman that could only be Tella seated nearby. As soon as he looks up, Oliver's eyes grow huge. 

"Papa! You're back!" He cries, flying across the hall to wrap his arms around Vivienne's legs. He has to bite back a wince, bracing himself to keep from toppling over. And yet seeing his boy, running a hand through his curls, makes everything worth it. It always does.

"Hey there, Sunshine," he breathes, "Were you good for Miss Tella?"

Oliver bobs his head up and down, eyes shining, "Yes! We went for a walk around town, I got to see a dog!"

He can't help but laugh, "A dog? How lovely." Tella rises from her seat, dressed in her most conservative of dancing silks, her smooth dark skin still painted with golden swirls from the day's entertainment. Vivienne mouths  _ thank you  _ as she walks by. She only winks, clasps him on the shoulder, and vanishes downstairs. 

That night they get to eat in peace. Vivienne came close enough to fulfilling his quota that he doesn't have to get shouted at by the madame. Stefan gets his room in perfect order in record time.

Despite what was said earlier, he still slips a few silvers under his door in thanks, and Tella's as well. 

Every single one is returned, sitting in a neat pile inside his room the following morning.

  
  
  


He doesn't see the woman for another two weeks. After the first he'd resolved that she wouldn't be coming back, and he'd tried not to let it dampen his mood. Still, she must have been so thoroughly put off by him that she decided never to come back.

Foolishly, he felt bad. He always felt bad when a customer was unsatisfied with him. 

But then Stefan had alerted him to another two hour block that had been bought, scheduled for that evening, and he'd known. He made sure none of his other clients that day left him too damaged. No blood. It was one of the few times he'd ever had that limit. One man had gotten angry, but Vivienne hadn't wavered. 

He'd had time to clean the room up a bit and light the candles before there was a knock at his door. She was the only one who had ever knocked. 

Carefully setting himself up for the best display, Vivienne found his smile wasn't so forced this time, as he bid them entrance. The same lithe form blocks out the light for a moment, and then the door clicks shut. 

"Hello Gorgeous," he croons, "I like your hair."

The woman chuffs a little laugh, running her fingers down the length of her braid. "Thank you. How are you feeling?"

"Right as rain, thanks to you. Where have you been?"

She drops her bag at her feet, and this time he helps her shrug out of that coat. It's heavy leather, probably more expensive than he could ever be. Delicately, he hangs it on the door hook.

"Busy," she breathes, "I am sorry it took me so long. I wanted to give you enough time to heal. And you have, by the looks of it."

He feels her eyes on his back, then her body as it moves closer.

"May I touch?" She inquires. He shoots her a coy look over his shoulder. 

"Touch all you like, Miss."

She rolls her eyes, a playfulness to the expression, and her fingers lightly ghost over where that gash had been. 

"Who is it that cut out your stitches?"

"A friend."

"Your friend did very well. Send them my praise."

It makes him laugh, something light and airy passing through him 

"I'll be sure to do that, Miss. Shall we get this show on the road?"

"If you are of proper condition, by all means."

Inwardly, Vivienne can't help but sigh with relief. He bats his lashes, sways his hips. "How would you like me, Miss?"

But the woman doesn't seem quite so pleased by that. She looks him up and down, a furrow marring his brow. "I do not want to play," she says softly. 

"Of course," says Vivienne, not quite understanding. 

"You do not need to… woo me. Do as comes naturally to you."

An.. unusual request, to say the least. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss," he laments, "I am trying to please you."

"I know, and your effort is appreciated. But I am not naive and I am not a fool. You do not have to sell me the illusion of love."

He swallows, toying with the end of his ponytail. It's a bit of a relief, but it also leaves him feeling lost. 

"As you wish, Miss. Where would you like me?"

"The bed, please. On your back."

He obeys, sliding out of his silken drawers on the way. 

"And you can call me by my name," the woman says. He bristles at the sound of a belt being unbuckled, but it's tossed aside. "Selene."

"Selene," he echoes, as he situates himself on the mattress. It feels weird on his lips. Not the name itself but… saying it. He hasn't spoken a new name in months. 

_ Selene. _

"Just like that," she snorts. Then her pants are off, and her tunic. His jaw drops. He hadn't realized just how long it's been since he'd seen a naked woman until she was right there in front of him. She catches his eye and smirks, "Do not tell me this is your first time."

"It's not!" He says quickly, "I just… was not expecting this. I mean — your face — you are beautiful, and the rest of you… I should have known." 

Her smirk fades to something more tender. "And the scars?" She hums, pointing to a jagged slash of pale flesh along her side. There are more of them, crawling all across her body. Even her face.

He swallows, "Honestly? I didn't notice them until you said something."

"How curious. That is how it was for me when I looked at you."

His mind grinds to a halt. "Er, what?" He stammers. 

The woman, Selene, pads over to him, stopping at the foot of the bed. "When I first saw you, I did not notice any of your scars. Only your face."

A blush burns it's way across his cheeks and down his chest. "You… you must be joking."

"No."

He doesn't know what to say, can't get his mind to work properly, so he just asks, "What will you want from me?" 

"As a first, your consent," she says, "I am not desperate for sex. And I have no intention of taking a man against his will. If you are not.. as you say,  _ up _ for it, I am happy to sit and chat for two hours."

_ What? _

"What?"

She slides onto the bed, her full breasts on perfect display, "Where I am from, it is not uncommon for a man to be taken against his will by a woman. And the idea of that, personally, makes me ill. So if you could confirm or deny, I would greatly appreciate it."

Bewildered, Vivienne nods. "Alright."

"So, do you consent?"

"Yeah," he breathes. One of her brows goes high, so he clears his throat and says it again, firmer, "Yes, I consent."

"Good," she says, smiling that tender smile again. It makes his heart flip, his insides flutter. "Like this, on your back, is that acceptable?"

"Yes," he says again. "I… would like to be able to see you."

The number of times he's been on his belly or even blindfolded are far too numerous to count. To actually be allowed to see his partner is… a luxury he didn't know he wanted. 

Selene nods, "Is there anywhere you do not want to be touched?"

"Not really. Unless you're going to end up wanting me to flip over?" He asks nervously.

Selene's lips quirk to the side. "Flip over? I do not… oh. No, that will not be necessary."

"Then I'm yours," he breathes.

She moves then, coming to set her knees on either side of his hips and straddling his waist. Gods, she was so warm. "May I have a kiss?"

"A kiss?" He echoes, "I... yeah, I guess."

She laughs again, soft and breezy. "You can say no, it is all right."

"No, I just… I've never been asked before. People usually don't want to kiss me."

"Well I do, if you will let me."

"Okay," he agrees, "Okay. Yes, you can kiss me." 

One of her hands braces on his chest, the other on the pillow beside his head, and she leans down to press her lips to his. Vivienne goes wholly limp, lips parted, half expecting her to plunder his mouth and gnaw at his lips. Or to grab him by the jaw and jab her fingernails into his cheeks and hiss at him for doing it wrong.

It doesn't happen. The kiss is light, chaste, but she pulls away far too fast, saying, "I told you, it is alright to say no."

"It's not that!" He blurts, "I just — I just wasn't expecting… this."

"Expecting what?"

"I… I guess I wasn't really expecting you to be nice about it."

Her face tightens, the candles casting flickering shadows across her body. "It is my intention to treat you kindly. If something is not to your liking, I expect you to say so."

"Okay, yeah," he rasps. His head feels full of cotton, his body fuzzy and warm. "I want — I want another kiss."

He braces for the yelling, the punishment, the shaming. He hasn't said 'I want' anything in years. 

He's a slave, slaves don't want.

And yet her lips are on his again. Moving slow, giving him time to catch his bearings. When he does he leans into it, purring softly, just barely daring to skim his fingers down her muscled thighs.

"There it is," she murmurs against his lips.

"What?" He pants. She smirks, reaches behind her. His whole body jerks as she runs her fingers down his budding erection. He hadn't even noticed, but now that she's touching him, touching him  _ there. _

"May I?"

He swallows, blinking too many times. "Yes."

His whole world centers on it, a groan slipping from his lips as she gives him a languid stroke. 

His body is so unused to pleasure. So unused to feeling  _ good.  _ For a moment his mind stops working. His brain stops functioning. Vivienne can only lie there, mouth hanging open, as Selene curls her hand into a fist and works him to a puddle. 

"You're wicked, agh—!" he gasps as her thumb scrapes against his slit, hands clenching on her hips before he snatches then away. Still trying to be polite, even as his mind rapidly fills with cotton. 

"So I have been told," she purrs. He manages to open his eyes to look at her, her bright eyes. She's grinning, smirking, looking like she's having the time of her life. "I was not expecting so much of a reaction from you. Tell me Vivienne, how long has it been since you were touched here?"

Another stroke, slow and twisting. He tries to buck off the bed to follow her hand, but her weight holds him firmly in place. 

"I-I don't— I don't know," he babbles, "Awhile— a really long while. Can I— can I touch you?"

Face bathed in the warm glow of the candles, Selene quirks a brow. "Touch me where?" 

"Where— wherever you want, Miss."

"Selene," she reminds him, twisting her hand around and around and  _ around _ . "And by all means. Touch at will."

There's a coy gleam to her voice. She probably expects him to reach directly down her legs, or maybe up for her breasts. Really though, as soon as he has permission he grasps her hips and refuses to let go. Selene laughs, and it's the sound of the fae. Lilting and lovely and so,  _ so _ devious. 

"More?" He rasps, "Please—?"

His nerves already set on fire, Vivienne wants to shriek as she gives his cock a few heart pumps before her hand disappears. 

"It really has been a long time," she murmurs. He swallows a breath, bobbing his head up and down. 

"You're the first to touch me— there, in really fucking long time," he pants. "I can't— no one ever wants to— I can't remember— I—"

Something odd and strangled leaves his throat as Selene grabs him again. Both hands behind her, one fist over the other. He can feel every single finger, the slick metal of what must be a ring, as she twists in opposing directions. 

Leant back as she is, her muscles flex and gleaming, he can see between her thighs. He looks away out of habit, knowing from experience that even though a woman might be naked, might be close enough to touch, she may very well hate him for looking. So his eyes go to her face, half hidden as she peers at her hands over her shoulder. 

"You are really enjoying this," she breathes. 

All he can manage through the sludge is a ragged,  _ "Yes!" _

He doesn't know how to act. Doesn't know what sounds are okay and which ones aren't. Can't even really think that far. All he can do is react and hope it doesn't upset her.

One hand on his cock, cupping its head, the other goes to his nipple. His mind skips a beat, he set seizing. 

Vivienne jolts away from her touch, the world going sharp and ugly and cold as he grabs her by the wrist. 

"What is it?" She demands, going totally still. "What happened?"

He blinks a few times, sucking in breath after breath. "Don't— please don't touch those."

Selene stares at him for a long moment, considering. At length, she asks, "Are you alright?"

He nods. And he is, really. But while his groin was mostly left alone, the same courtesy hadn't been extended to his chest. Too many people have come at him with teeth, needles, and pins for him not to fear it. 

The fear hadn't even crossed his mind. But now that it's there, he trembles like a kicked puppy.

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes," he whispers, "Yes. Just please, please not there."

"Okay." 

He lets her go, and Selene flicks her braid over her shoulder. "I want to kiss you again. May I?"

Licking his lips, Vivienne nods. "Yes."

And as her lips are on his again, soft as flowers, tongue gently brushing against his own, he has to wonder why she isn't angry. Why she didn't ask questions. 

"I assume you know how to pleasure a woman," she asks breathlessly, once they've parted for air.

"It's been awhile," he says, a mandatory disclaimer, "But I remember the fundamentals. Where do you want me—?"

She rises onto her knees. Vivienne goes entirely pink at the spot of wetness left on his skin. Now it's impossible not to stare, especially since he doesn't promptly get smacked for it.

"I want your hand, not your mouth," instructs Selene, "Can you do that?"

He nods. Now this he understands. Understands like a fucking novel. Vivienne props himself up on an elbow and, after examining the length of his nails and getting a nod of permission from Selene, slips his hand between her legs. It's a little awkward for his shoulder since she's on top of him but he manages.

Wanting to do his very best, he asks, "Inside or outside?" 

"Why not both?" 

"Some ladies have a preference," he explains, "Like I said it's been awhile. If something doesn't work or—"

"I will tell you. Please, get to it."

Vivienne nods, takes a deep breath.

_ I can do this. I used to be the king of this. _

She's so warm. As soon as he brushes his fingers against, he can feel just how slick she really is. His thumb runs over her clit just lightly. A shiver passes through her, a brief tremble to her thighs. 

Good. He doesn't have to play games then. Curling his two forefingers together, Vivienne slips them up inside her. Scraping gently along her walls, seeking, his thumb slowly increasing its attention on her clit. 

Selene watches him, hands braced back on his thighs. Gradually, she begins to rock against him. A slow rut.

He twists his fingers, her hips give a small jerks. He focuses more attention on her clit, a little more pressure, and a hiss slips out of her lips. His hand is only getting slicker and slicker.

_ Maybe I've still got it. _

Finally his fingers brush against something, a part of her that's a little rougher than the rest. Selene lets out a little murmur, just the suggestion of a sound. He smirks. From then on it's a balancing act. Figuring out which spot likes which. How to draw out the biggest reactions. And, well, he didn't used to be a favorite for nothing. 

Soon he has Selene doubled over, grinding against him, emitting low keening noise. Her fingers bite into his ribs, sure to leave marks. He doesn't mind. Not when she tips her head back, showing him her beautiful face shining with sweat. His free hand roams, caressing her hips, her shoulders. Things would be a bit better if he were above, so he could use his lips to explore her body further. 

He doesn't have to be a whore to know that a woman like this would never let a man top her. At least not in a situation like this.

"Okay, okay," wheezes Selene, her first words since this started. "Okay. How do you feel about progressing one step further?"

"One step further?" He echoes, stopping his ministrations. "What do you mean?"

She opens her eyes, sapphire and fever bright. "Will you let me fuck you, Vivienne?'

He's glad he's caught his breath. 

"Yeah— yes," he stammers. "I— yeah. Gladly."

Selene smiles, reaching behind her. He's still hard as a rock, throbbing with his racing heart. 

"Alright," whispers Selene. Vivienne takes a deep breath, fists the sheets. He feels the heat of her more intense than ever now, as she presses back against him. And then they're both moaning, him high and shrill and her a snarl through her teeth, as Selene sinks down, down,  _ down. _

Under his breath, Vivienne whispers, "Holy fuck." It's as if his pelvis has become a separate entity, the only thing in his entire world. Except it isn't, because he grabs one of Selene's hands and squeezes. Her lashes flutter, beads of moisture streaming down her chest. 

"Kiss?" She asks, some sort of delirium to her voice. Part of him wonders just how long it's been for her too. 

He nods, pressing himself up to meet her. This kiss is different almost immediately. Vivienne leans into it, lapping at her tongue, the inside of her teeth, nipping at her lips. Selene meets him every step of the way, purring like some great mountain cat. He combs a hand through her hair, brushing away the bits that have come free of the braid.

Distantly, he realizes his is longer.

Her hands are on him, cupping his jaw, stroking his arms. Wholly and totally avoiding his chest. 

She withdraws first, brow heavy against his. "Ready?"

"At your pace," he replies. They both take a breath, two, and three. 

And then Selene lifts herself up, nearly leaving him behind, and drops back down. 

Trying to save at least a little face, he grits his teeth against the mewling noises that try to escape. It doesn't work.

Again and again and again she moves, the bed creaking beneath them, a starved woman unleashed on a feast. 

It's all he can do to hold on, a hand on her waist, on her hip, her shoulder. Wherever he can grasp. He bucks to meet her every time, just barely aware enough not to drive his nails through her skin.

His own ragged breathing fills his ears, lightning ringing through his toes. A winding heat in his stomach, growing tighter and tighter with each rotation. 

"Selene, I'm gonna—"

"You will not," she hisses, "Wait for me. Fucking—  _ wait _ for me."

He groans, throws his head back into the pillow. She moves quicker, more urgently. His mind begins to fray, muscles trembling as he  _ holds, holds, holds. _

He starts sputtering, writhing, a constant litany of  _ please _ s and  _ why _ s. 

_ Wretched wretched woman. _

He closes his eyes, trying to hide in his mind, seeking undesirable thoughts to stave away this heat.

It's for naught, because then and there he can't hold it anymore.

Selene bears down on him, her entire body stiff as stone. Vivienne can only gasp with the force of his climax, as every bit of him turns wholly and totally to mist. 

  
  
  


Afterwards they lie there in peaceful quiet. There's still quite a bit of time left on the clock. And while he knew by now that she was kind and good, Vivienne still hadn't expected it when her arms had curled around his waist. She pulls him in close, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

Warmth twists inside of him. How long had it been since someone had hugged him? Besides Oliver, at least. 

Most people avoided touching him, as if he carried the plague. Not Selene though. Maybe it was because she wasn't from here. Or, maybe she was just a nice lady.

"I have a question for you, Vivienne," she whispered against his shoulder. 

"I may have an answer," he replies coyly, "But no promises."

Her breath is warm as she chuckles, and so are her fingers as they tangle through his hair. "Tell me: your boy. How did you end up with him?"

His smile falters. "I… had a client. She came to me shortly before being wed. Turns out I got her pregnant."

"I thought your country had a tonic for that sort of thing?"

He shrugs. "The baby popped out the spitting image of me. Red hair, dark skin. And I guess the poor husband was very pale, with no history of red hair. She appeared on our stoop and just… dropped him there."

"Dropped as in," she makes some strange, hapless gesture, " _dropped_?"

"She didn't throw him like a ball," he says, trying and failing to laugh. "She just very clearly didn't want him."

She hums in consideration, one of her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. "Your madame allowed this?"

He shrugs, pressing himself closer to her. "She was nicer then. Wasn't as harsh."

"He seemed happy, your boy," muses Selene. "I saw him up in the lounge with that dancer. He appears well kempt."

"I'm trying."

"You are doing well."

The words are stolen from his lips, as is the breath from his lungs. 

_ No one has ever said that to me. _

"I-Im really trying," he manages, "But it's hard, it's  _ so  _ hard. I don't know how I would do it without my friends."

"You are all doing well then. He seems to be kept well away from all of — this," she gestures between them and Vivienne smirks.

He rolls over to face her, surprised and pleased when her hand returns to his hair. "I have a question for you, Selene."

She snorts. "You say my name like a title. Very well, ask away."

"What are you doing here?"

"I believe I just finished fucking you out of your mind," she drawls. The cackle that bubbles out of him takes them both by surprise. 

He feels brave enough to take her hand in his and brush a kiss over her knuckles, saying, "You know what I meant. You clearly aren't from here, so why are you here?"

The warmth fades from her face as she squeezes his hand. "I am in exile from my homeland. I have a spring house here, so I will be heading there shortly."

"Exiled?" He echoes in disbelief, "For what?"

She sighs, cracks her neck from side to side. "In my country I was a knight. As I am sure you've noticed, I am very good at getting people to talk to me. Especially ones facing their deaths. I have… found more than one innocent person headed to the butcher's block. Usually their confessions are coerced in one way or another."

"Sounds awful," he breathes. 

"Yes. Let us just say I would not handle those matters any longer and the queen discharged me near instantaneously."

"I'm sorry," he says, resting one hand on the curve of her hips. "That must have been horrible."

"Not as much as you might expect; I saw it coming. When they froze all of my accounts, seized my land, and told me to leave, I was already packed."

Vivienne shakes his head is disgust. "You said you had a spring house? Where is it?"

"Oh, some few miles from the border. A day or two away."

Despite himself, Vivuenne bites his lip. "Does that mean I won't get to see you again?"

"You will see me several more times, do not fret," she chuckles, "I will be in town for a little while longer. Do not tell me you may miss me?"

He doesn't answer. Her eventual departure hadn't occurred to him. Vivienne hadn't quite realized how much he would miss having someone talk to him like a person.

"Hey," Selene chides, lightly poking his cheek. "Do not look so solemn."

He quickly shakes his head, brushing his hair from his face. "I'm — I'm not. I just — I just really liked having a nice customer."

She fixes him with a stern look. He can read it like a novel. 

_ You are a bad liar and I'm offended by this attempt.  _

He sags. "You must think me very foolish."

"On the contrary, I find myself in agreement."

"You… what?" 

She laughs softly, the air warming between them as she takes his hand once more, and kisses his knuckles in turn. "I have found myself quite intrigued with you, Vivienne. I have found myself… caring, for you. About you. I like you, and I would not be opposed to coming down and visiting you some other time."

His jaw falls slack, a thousand thoughts storming through his head. She closes it with a finger beneath his chin. "Not a word," she lilts, "You may make me blush."

Part of him wonders if she is sincere. The rest of him wonders what her voice would sound like wrapped around another name. The name he barely remembers. But he is nothing if not a good slave, so he obeys and stays silent. Selene holds him until time runs out, cooing and whispering and pressing kisses to his cheeks, arms, neck.

When she leaves he feels strangely vacant. Already, he longs for her return.

  
  


She visits three more times over the course of the next month. Vivienne can't help but look forward to each one. Every time he's informed of a two hour appointment, his heart skips a beat.

She uses him just once during these three sessions, a mind numbing thing that left him shaky and trembling for hours afterwards. But the other two times he'd been exhausted. Too drained to do much more than offer himself to her. She'd sternly refused. 

Instead, they talked. About nothing, to be honest. One time Selene brought a deck of cards and taught him how to play a game. He wasn't very good, even if she had been very accommodating. 

One time he fell asleep in her arms, and woke to find her sleeping as well. 

Gods, he really isn't looking forward to her leaving.

  
  


Several days later, he's called to the madame's office. His body still sings with the memory of Selene's touch, of her lips on his body. Her laugh in his ear.

He knocks on Lydia's door, resigned to the verbal lashing he's about to receive. He hasn't reached his quota in awhile, even with Selene's help. 

"Enter," she calls. She's a wiry sort of thing, built like a snake, with honey gold hair always wound into a crown of braids. She might have been beautiful if he hadn't been privy to the cruelty those nimble fingers could unleash. 

"You wanted to see me, Miss?" He says as he steps inside. 

Lydia looks at him, takes off her glasses. "Close the door."

He does, and leans against it. Trying to get as far from her as he possibly can. 

"I'm sure you're aware that you haven't been performing to our standard, yes?"

He tries not to bristle, staring at his feet. "Yes Miss."

_ It's not my fault you let them mutilate me to the point where no one wants me. _

_ Well, maybe not everyone. _

"Unfortunately, you've begun to run us into a deficit. The money spent on you and your boy far surpasses what you manage to bring in."

"I will try to do better, Miss."

She looks at him, eyes so cold. "You aren't understanding me. You're no longer worth the money we put into you. As such, there's no reason to keep you here."

He narrows his eyes. This is all the same as before, the same threats. 

"I understand Miss. I will —"

She slaps a paper down on the desk for him to see. "You've been put up for sale, effective immediately."

She points to the price, circles it with her quill. 

His heart stops dead in his chest. 

_ Cheaper than dirt. _

Vivienne stands there, still as stone. Every single thought has vanished from his mind. "Sale," he whispers. 

"I'm sorry," she says, not sounding very sorry at all, "I thank you for all your years in service, and wish you well."

"They'll kill me," is all he can manage, "Whoever buys me is going to kill me."

_ I'll either be worked to death, fucked to death, or beaten to death.  _

_ I'm going to die. _

"What your future owner does is none of my business —"

"What happens to Oliver?" He demands, "Where does he go?"

Lydia sighs, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "He has gone up for sale as well, but it won't be advertised. More than likely he will remain here."

"And become a whore?" Like speaking through water, he can't hear himself. Can only feel the words as they slip past his lips. 

"If you're any indication, he will grow to be plenty attractive. He should bring in plenty of money once he's old enough. A worthy investment, as it were."

A trembling begins in his hands, clenching into fists as his sides. "And how old is that?"

"Sixteen, maybe seventeen."

He snarls, the sound from another world. "You fucking bitch, you —  _ you —" _

"Out!" Snarls Lydia. "Right now. One more like that and I'll sell your boy right after you, and you can watch each other die."

The threat is enough to silence the rest of his curses. He knows she would do it, if only to spite him. She would probably kill Oliver with her bare hands to spite him.

This woman used to be merciful, used to treat him with the respect humans are inherently due. She let him keep his boy, after all. 

Whatever the matter, that woman didn't exist anymore. 

"Out," she snaps again. He leaves. Stefan is right there by the door, dark eyes wide.

"Viv —" he tries.

He can't think. Can't think. Can't think. 

_ My boy's going to be a whore.  _

_ It's my fault. _

Like he's there, Vivienne remembers a thousand slimy hands clawing at his body. Beating him, breaking him. 

_ Not him. Gods, not him. _

He looks at Stefan. "Where's Oliver."

Stefan swallows, points, "Your room, I think."

Vivienne storms down the hall, the ragged burn of his breathing the only sound. 

On his wrists are thousands of overlapping scars from thousands of too-tight ropes. His fingers, so crooked and bent from a thousand broken bones. His dreams haunted by a thousand evil grins.

_ Not him. Not him. Please gods, not him. _

_ This is all my fault. _

"Papa!" chimes Oliver, as he steps into the bedroom. The joy on his face dies, turning to concern. "What's wrong? What happened?"

He can't say anything. What could he possibly say to his boy, so small and precious, to make things okay?

"Nothing," he says, "Did you have a good day?"

Oliver isn't stupid. He can tell when something is wrong, but he's always been smart enough to keep quiet. "Okay," he shrugs, "Miss Tella read me a story, and then…"

His ears stop working. Oliver's voice drones off into a low hum in the background. Slowly, Vivienne moved to sit down at the chair by the window, eyes focused on nothing but the dark sky.

It was over for him, that much is known. Thirty three was old for any slave, let alone a whore. And he was so, so cheap. The kind of slave someone would buy if they didn't have the money to actually take care of one. Wherever he went, his fate would be the same. A painful death in the dark. All alone. 

But he doesn't  _ care _ . Not when Oliver's fate was going to be so much worse. Used and used and used until there was nothing left. And then he would be shoved aside. Either sold into labor, or used as a toy for the worst of the worst. Just like his father. 

It still didn't seem real. Nothing had changed. Nothing  _ would  _ change, once he was gone. The room would be the same, the whores would go about their business just the same.

Oliver would grow up with one destiny, one job. To give and give and give.

It wasn't right, but Oliver would grow up thinking it was. Thinking that was all he was good for. 

Everything lovely about him would die. 

Vivienne clenched his jaw, fists clenching in his lap. It wasn't  _ fair. _ Why should his boy suffer for something that wasn't his fault? 

Why was this allowed? Why was any of this allowed?

A tug at his sleeve startles him from his thoughts. "What?" He snaps. Oliver flinches, staggering back a step.  _ Fuck _ . 

"I'm sorry Sir," he says in a small voice. Vivienne's heart shattered. "I'm — I'm hungry, can we please get something to eat?"

_ Fuck. Good fucking job, you idiot. _

He'd always suspected someone on the staff smacked his boy around from time to time. There were never any marks, but it was grossly evident anytime Oliver flinched or tried to hide when someone raised their voice nearby. And  _ Sir. _ He's been slipping into it more and more. The Sirs and Ma'ams, especially when he's spooked.

Vivienne reaches for him, trying to ignore the way his son stiffens, and gently squeezes his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah of course. I'm sorry Sunshine, I've just had a rough day."

"Oh," Oliver mumbles, looking down. "Do ya need a hug?" 

From nowhere, tears rush behind his eyes and Vivienne has to blink them away. "Yeah. Please, come here." 

He bundles Oliver into his arms, cupping the back of his head to his chest. Oliver makes a small happy sound, fisting the front of his tunic. 

"Shit," whispers Vivienne.

"Swear," Oliver mumbles, "Not supposed to swear, Papa."

Despite himself, despite everything, Vivienne laughs softly, "Sorry Sunshine, can you forgive me?"

"Course! It was just an accident."

Resting his chin on the top of Oliver's head, Vivienne lets his eyes close and fights his tears.

  
  


Selene comes by the next day. 

He goes about his work in a daze. No one says anything, but they seem infinitely kinder. Even the kitchen staff, who have actually spat on him in the past, keep their remarks to themselves. 

One customer bites his ear so hard it tears the lobe, but he barely feels it. He doesn't even notice until someone mentions it to him in passing. When Stefan tells him he's got a two hour booking, it doesn't even cross his mind who it might be. It doesn't even cross his mind at all, for that matter. He just goes and lies down on his bed, waiting for the time to pass. 

He has no plan. No way to fix this. He can't very well escape into the dead of winter with a six year old boy, especially since neither of them have any shoes. All he can really hope for is that no one buys him for a little while. So he can spend just a bit more time with his son. 

So he can think of a way to save him from this hell. 

He makes no sound when a hand touches his thigh, rolling him onto his back. 

"Vivienne," says a woman's voice. He stares at the ceiling, and the drawings his son made him. Maybe he can take one when he goes. 

Someone grabs his face, pulls it to center. He blinks at her, once, twice, until Selene's face comes into view. Her brow is pinched, her mouth tight. "What is it?"

He opens his mouth to speak, and snaps it shut as the tears hit him full force.

"Vivenne," she repeats, and her eyes scanning down his body, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, no that's not it," he whispers. His lips are trembling, his vision going murky. He hates it. Hates this. 

"Then what has you so distraught?" 

Her hands cup his face, thumbs brushing away his tears. He could drown in her touch. In the concerned light in her eyes.

"They… I've been put up for sale," he whispers. Selene's expression falls, saying nothing. She holds out her arms though, a universal gesture, and Vivienne throws himself at her. He buries his face in her neck, grasping at her jacket. 

"I have you," she whispers, holding him tight, "I have you."

That's all it takes for the dam to break. Great heaving sobs rip through him like blows as he cries and cries and cries. 

Selene combs her fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his nape. She coos, sounding almost fond. Her body is so warm, so inviting. 

He feels no shame as he wails. Feels nothing at all really. Except maybe heartbreak.

Eventually his tears patter off into pathetic whimpering, but he can't bring himself to let go. 

"What will happen to your boy?" Asks Selene, her lips right by his ear. 

Vivienne has to swallow another rising round of tears, sucking in as big a breath as he can manage. "He's for sale but… he's probably going to stay here. They — Lydia wants to make him a whore when he old enough."

"That bitch," Selene snarls, "Are you serious?"

He clears his throat, averting his eyes. "I don't… I don't know what to do, I don't… what am I supposed to do?"

"I do not know," she says, "I am sorry. Maybe someone good will purchase him, and he will be safe."

His shoulders sag. "Do you really think that will happen?"

"... No," she admits, "I do not."

"You wouldn't happen to know anyone in the market for a youngling, would you?" He asks. It's supposed to be a joke, but all it does is send a fresh wave of tears down his face.

"Unfortunately not."

"What about — what about you?" He stammers, and her eyes go wide.

"What about me?"

"You could buy him. You could get him out, couldn't you?" 

She sighs, looking away. "Vivienne…"

He grabs her hands, looking frantically across her face for any sign that this was possible. "Please," he begs, "Please. I don't want him to die here."

"He would not —"

"I don't want him to end up like me!" He blurts. Selene lets out a long breath, goes quiet for a minute.

Then —

"What is his price?" Selene whispers. Through his tears Vivienne can see the tightness of her face, the curl of her lip. 

"I don't — I don't know," he chokes, "It can't be high. He's too young for it to be any higher than —"  _ for it to be any higher than mine. _ He remembers the number Lydia had circled, can picture it in his mind's eye. 

_ Price: 350 Silver OR 7 Gold, due upon purchase. _

There were fowl that went for more than that. 

"You do not know me," says Selene, "Why are you asking this?"

She's right, he doesn't know her. Maybe the years spent getting beat and cut and burned and fucked had inflated how she had treated him. Kindness, respect. Things he had never truly faced. And yet he knew, in the way a whore can tell a bad customer from a single glance, that she was  _ good _ . 

Vivienne wipes his face, wraps his arms tight around his battered body. "I don't know you, but I know you would be good to him. You don't even have to keep him, just… I don't know. Deliver him to an orphanage somewhere, please?" he begs. Her face doesn't shift, her expression still as harsh and cold as ever. "I can even cut the costs!" he blurts, and dives towards that loose floorboard. "I can — I can maybe cut the cost by two thirds, and you can — and you can —"

He doesn't realize what's happened until her hands are on his, until Selene is prying the coin purse from his hands and dropping it back in its hiding place. 

"I will not take your money."

His expression crumbling, Vivienne cries, "You have to, please,  _ please _ . I don't want him to grow up here, with these people, do what I've had to do. He deserves — he  _ needs _ —"

"What he deserves is his father," whispers Selene. "He needs you."

"I'm a whore, I should have never been allowed to have a child in the first place," he snaps, shaking his head. "Please, I'll do whatever you'd like for as long as I'm here. I won't even have to charge you, you could keep me to yourself all day and do whatever you want with me until I'm bought." 

Selene sighs, taking his face in her hands. "Vivienne…" 

"You said you liked me, that you cared for me. Can't you do me this one favor?" He whispers. He should know better than to hope, than to plead with a customer. Because Selene is a good woman, but at the end of the day she is just a customer. She has no reason to go out of her way for him. To spend money on a child she doesn't want. 

"And what will happen to you?" She asks quietly. In the cold winter light from outside, her eyes look like the sea. 

"I…" 

He doesn't want to think of it right now. Selene must feel the same because she doesn't make him answer. 

"It's alright," he rasps, wiping the tears off of his face with the back of his hand. "I won't have to suffer for much longer."

"Do not say that," she sighs.

Vivienne shakes his head, brushes some of his hair from his face. "It's… alright. I'm not scared of it, I just…" 

_ I just wish things would have been better. That I would have been better.  _

_ That I could watch Oliver grow up. _

_ That he got to know my name.  _

Selene scowls, "So, you want me to buy your son, leave him in an orphanage just —  _ somewhere _ , and then leave you to die "

It does sound stupid coming from her. Stupid, selfish even. Something no proper parent would ever ask a stranger. Though he is no proper parent, and Selene is more than a stranger. 

"You're the best chance he's got," replies Vivienne. 

Selene shakes her head, looking to the window, the falling snow outside. Her hair is so light, it might have been the same color as the blank sky. 

"You don't have to get rid of him," Vivienne tries again, desperation edging his voice. "He's a bright boy. Once you get to your house, you could have him clean for you — and cook when he gets older."

"I do not know how to care for a child."

And he wants to tell her that she wouldn't have to care for him, not really. Oliver can feed himself, bathe himself. Then he remembers his temper, his tantrums. His tears and nightmares. And she's right, he doesn't know her. Doesn't know she wouldn't throw him out in the snow. He knows she's good, but doesn't know how far that goodness might extend. 

"Then just get him out of here," he whispers, "I will cut the cost."

Selene loses a long breath, staring at the coin purse. "I… I cannot take your money."

Slumping in relief, Vivienne grabs it and tosses it her way. "I won't need it after this."

She catches it, the silvers jangling in their leather pouch, and bites her lip. "I am sorry this happened to you."

"Don't be, it's my lot in life. I just don't want it to be his."

Slowly, as if it pains her, Selene rises to her feet. "I will come see you again before you go."

He feels a smile curl onto his lips, even as tears beginning welling once more. "I would like that, Miss."

She stoops to kiss him one on the forehead, right between the eyes, and Vivienne hates the way it makes his heart flutter. 

"I will see you again," she murmurs against his skin. And then she is gone. Taking all of his hope with her.

  
  
  


Oliver is sold that night, to be picked up the next day. In the madame's office, Lydia is furious. She says nothing, just tosses the contract down for them to see. He reads nothing, sees nothing, except for Selene's name. His grip tightens on Oliver's shoulders, throat swelling shut. 

_ She did it. She came through.  _

_ Selene, I hope you receive all the happiness in the world.  _

"Get out," Lydia snaps, and Vivienne retreats with a broken smile on his face. His heart breaks a little more, though, as he has to answer question after question later in their room.

"Where am I going?"

"To an orphanage — somewhere where little ones go to be looked after."

"What about you?" 

"I'll be staying here."

"I'll still get to see you, right?"

And oh, how he wanted to cry then. He had to turn away, pretending to check the shutters. "Of course. But I might be busy, so it'll take a bit."

Oliver had made a noise like a whimper, "But I don't wanna go. I like it here."

"I know Sunshine. But you'll like it better there."

"Was it cause I was bad?"

"What?" He croaks, looking at him over his shoulder, "Who told you that?"

Oliver shrugs, looking down sheepishly. "Miss Lydia."

Vivienne bit his quivering lip, staring at the ceiling as he blinked the tears away. "Oli, why don't you pick out a book for us to read tonight."

That had gotten his son's attention perfectly diverted, as he scrambled across the bed to their little shelf of books. Vivienne so rarely had the energy, a story was an amazing treat. 

That night, Oliver fell asleep in his arms, sleeping so peacefully. Vivienne could only stare at him and trace his features. Committing each one to memory.

_ My eyes, her nose. My hair, her cheeks, her mouth.  _

_ Oh gods, I'm going to miss you.  _

_ Please, please keep him safe. _

He sucks in a watery breath and kisses his son's brow, before rolling over and pinching out the candle.

  
  
  


The next morning, a voice jerks him awake. The room is just as dark as yesterday, the sky barely lightened.

It's just Stef standing in the doorway, smiling softly.

"I heard," he says quietly, wary of the still sleeping Oliver. "Congrats. Are you all packed up?"

"Packed up for what?" Vivienne asks, his heart skipping a beat. "Have I — have I been bought already?"

Stefan frowns, cocking his head. "Uh. Yeah? I'm sorry, Lydia said she told you."

"No, no she didn't," he whispers. His body is suddenly too cold. 

"Well, you should pack up. Your owner's supposed to be here at noon to pick you guys up." 

_ Owner.  _

Vivienne blinks, eyes snapping to him. "What?"

"Um, what?" Stefan echoes, looking terribly lost. 

"You said owner. Just one?"

"Yeah, just one."

"We're going to the same place?"

Stefan shrugs, offering a meek smile. "That's what I was told. I — you want help packing?"

Vivienne doesn't answer, instead looking at Oliver. Something burns in his chest, in his throat. 

_ Owner. _

_ Just one.  _

_ Selene.  _

_ Selene.  _

Stefan quietly closes the door. Vivienne chokes on a shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn't dared hope. Hadn't dared to even ask. No one would want an old, battered toy. No one would want to care for him. 

And yet Selene had. She had treated him with kindness and respect. Like a person. For the first time in years, he feels a bit of hope.

  
  
  


There isn't much to pack. A few books he'd bought with his tips, a jacket gifted to him when he'd once been a favorite. Oliver has less, to his shame. There are no other toys, just the blanket one of the women had knitted for him, and those drawings. As he's carefully putting everything into a knapsack, Vivienne can't help but feel guilty. 

Oliver is bouncing up and down though, green eyes so wide as he clutched that worn felt cat in his arms. 

"You remember the rules I told you?" Vivienne asks as he makes their bed for the last time. 

Oliver bobs his head up and down, "Uh huh."

"What are they?"

"I have to be on my best behavior," he recites, smile so impossibly bright, "I have to call her Miss. I have to be quiet. I have to do exactly as you tell me always, or else we'll get in big-big trouble."

He can't help but release a quiet sigh. At least he can remember. Following those rules might be a different story, but at least he remembers.

"Good boy. Come here," Vivienne says, and opens his arms for a hug. Giggling, Oliver flies at him, diving into Vivienne's embrace and holding onto his shoulders. 

_ Oh gods.  _

He buries his face in Oliver's hair, clutching the back of his tunic until his knuckles turn white.

"I love you, Sunshine," he whispers, as more tears burn at his eyes. 

Oliver laughs, "Love you too! You're the best Papa ever!"

He may or may not have to choke down a whimper after that. It hurts, in kind of a good way. Because he's not a good father. His son is a slave and it's his fault. He sold his body and soul for as cheap as possible to keep a roof over their head. Was never able to provide gifts on birth-days or holidays, always relying on the pity of others. 

He's an awful father. But… if Oliver's happy, he can't be that bad.

Slinging the knapsack over his shoulder, he flinches at the sound of another knock on the door.

"Um, come in?" he calls.

The door swings open and it's Selene. Her hair wound into a tight tail, her jacket gleaming and boots perfectly polished, a bag slung over her shoulder. His knees go a little weak.

"Were we taking too long?" He blurts, immediately going into a panic. "I'm sorry, we're done, we can —"

Selene holds up a hand, her lips just barely quirking upwards. "Easy, I am early. I just wanted to deliver some things."

"Deliver?" squeaks Vivienne, eyes wide.

Oliver has stopped bouncing and instead stares at Selene, backing up against Vivienne's legs. Looking at him, her expression seems to soften. Vivienne can't quite describe it. It's almost as if someone slid a hand across her face and smoothed all her sharp edges. 

"You think I did not notice your lack of shoes?" Selene snorts, and drops the bag at his feet. Vivienne doesn't move, doesn't dare do more than draw Oliver tight to his front. 

"You didn't have to, Miss," he says weakly.

"Of course I did. There is a coat for your little one as well, gloves too. And —" Despite himself, Vivienne stiffens as she reached inside her jacket, and produces a small stuffed rabbit. Oliver gasps, rocking in his hold. She smiles a bit, almost… almost tentative as she holds it out. "I did not know if he had anything like… this."

" _ Miss _ ," he breathes, feeling like his heart might beat out if his chest. It looks so nicely made, colored a warm brown, its eyes two little black beads. Never has anything so nice entered this room.

His hands twitching, Oliver asks, "Can I take it Papa?"

Vivienne looks at Selene. She looks at him. "Yes," he says at length, "What do we say?"

"Thank you Miss," he whispers as he grabs the rabbit. 

"Of course," Selene replies, sounding like she means it. 

Vivienne sends Oliver to sit in the window seat and play for a minute. All he can do is stare at the bag. At the enormous price tag he imagines in his head.

"I don't know what to say to you," he swallows. 

"You could tell me your name."

He can't help but grimace. "You know my name already."

Selene sighs, her voice dropping, "I am not going to call you a whore's name in front of your son."

Something tightens in him, at the same time something unfurls. As far as he knows, Oliver has never heard him be called Vivienne. The other workers were always very careful, even Lydia. As far as he knows, no one else knows his birth name. Sometimes he forgets it himself. 

"Eli," he says finally, "My name is Eli."

Her eyes flick to Oliver. "Him?"

"Oliver."

She's smiling again, warm and gentle. "He looks just like you."

Vivienne, Eli, finds himself laughing a bit. "So I've been told."

Selene looks to the bag again, gestures to it, "Would you like to see what I got you?"

He nods, head still reeling, still not moving. "Yes Miss."

She grabs the bag, dumps it out on the bed. Two coats, two pairs of boots, two pairs of gloves. Each in one adult's size, the other in a child's. 

The color drains from his face. "That's a lot." 

"If I had known you already had a coat I would not have gotten one but," she shrugs, "I will not lose sleep over it."

"How much did all of this cost," he whispers. Selene side eyes him.

"Do not fret —."

Eli shakes his head. "Whatever I owe you, I will pay you back."

"You want to pay me back sixty gold?" 

_ Oh. Oh shit. She's going to want to sell everything she doesn't need, immediately.  _

"Yes," he says, an edge of urgency in his tone, "How much of that was for him? I can — I'll pay that back as quick as possible. Give me two nights, I can — I can —"

Selene huffs. "Eli, I do not want your money."

"It's too much," he hisses. He has to force himself to suck in a gasp of air but it isn't enough. "You'll want to get rid of it but — but he  _ needs  _ it —"

"I am not getting rid of anything," insists Selene, "How cheap do you think I am? I know what goes into caring for slaves, I am not about to let you freeze to death."

"You said you were discharged," he whispers, "They froze your accounts."

"Yes, but I saw it coming. I pulled most of my assets weeks before." 

Forcing a deep breath, Eli swallows his rising panic. "It's a lot. Too much to spend on a slave. I will pay you back."

Selene grabs his arm, and he cringes so hard he smacks into the bedpost. "Easy," Selene breathed, "Easy. Sixty gold is less than I spent to get here, Eli. It is nothing, you hear me? Nothing."

It's then that he realizes he's shaking. "The — the jacket," he stammers, pointing at the child's coat. "How much was that?"

"I am not sure I want to tell you."

"Please," he croaks, voice cracking, "How much?"

Selena sighs, long and suffering. "It was made new so, uh, probably twenty gold?"

_ More than me. _

"Papa, are you okay?" asks Oliver. 

"Yes, Sunshine. I'm okay," he responds. It's a lie. 

_ Sixty gold is nothing.  _

_ I was seven. I am less than nothing.  _

"Hey, take a seat," Selene says, and suddenly her voice is crooning, "Take a seat. It is alright."

He obeys, sagging onto that filthy mattress. 

Selene takes his hand, squeezing gently. "What is the matter?"

"That jacket costs more than me," he says. His voice sounds far away. Like he's listening through a wall. "It cost more than him."

"... yes," she hedges, "I do not follow."

He doesn't either. Doesn't understand why that's so terrifying. So… revolting. His son cost less than a jacket because he's barely more than a babe, but him? He costs less because he's worn thin. And gross. Something no one should ever want to touch. 

"It's too much," he repeats. 

"Well, I disagree. Come, put them on. We have to leave at noon if we want to make it in a timely manner."

And it's an order. One he's terrified to follow. 

"Oli, come here," he commands, voice harsher than he means. Oliver springs up instantly, not a word of protest, holding his cat and his rabbit protectively to his chest. 

"Do I gotta give it back now?" He asks in a tiny voice.

"No, Little One," Selene answers. "The rabbit is yours entirely. Have you named him yet?"

"No Miss," Oliver responds. "Didn't know I would get to keep it."

Her face does something weird then. Flickering between some place infinitely sad, and infinitely angry.

"Does that happen often? You have to give toys back?" She asks. Eli can feel the brunt of her stare as he helps Oliver into his new boots. 

"Sometimes."

From the corner of his eye, he sees one of her brows quirk. 

"The madame here," Eli explains softly, as he struggled to tie the laces. "She likes to give and take. It's a game she plays. Sometimes you get something nice, but you make a floorboard creak and she takes it away."

"Bitch," Selene snipes. 

"Swear," Oliver says, to Eli's horror, then his mouth snaps shut. 

Selene doesn't snap at him though. She just cracks her knuckles, one by one. "I am sorry. The rabbit's yours."

"Even if I'm bad?" 

"I am not your disciplinarian. I will not be taking anything away."

"Oli, hush," Eli butts in before he can say anything else. "Remember what I told you?"

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry." 

_ He's started with the 'Sir' again. Gods, he has to be terrified. _

"It's alright Sunshine. Put your coat on," he instructs. Oliver does as told, then the gloves, and stands there looking so lost. As Eli puts on his own gear, he murmurs to his son, "Now, what do we say to the nice lady for buying you all of this?" There's a quaver in his voice that he doesn't like. 

Obediently, Oliver recites, "Thank you Miss."

Selene smiles again, but it no longer reaches her eyes. "It is no problem, Little One. Are we ready to go?"

Nodding, Eli grabs their bag and scoops Oliver into his arms. "Yes Miss."

And then they're moving. Down through the hall, up the stairs. There are noises coming from each of the rooms, music from the dining hall.

_ Everyone is working. I won't get to say goodbye. _

He grits his teeth against the rush of emotions slamming through him. 

Guilt. Shame. Regret. Fear. 

He's leaving his home, his friends, to go with a woman he just barely knows. It's so stupid, and  _ so _ dangerous. He can only pray that his feelings about Selene are correct. 

Outside, he's hit with a wave of cold that nearly knocks him out, the snow crunching like bones underfoot. 

"I take it you have not been outside in awhile?" Selene muses.

"Not in thirteen years," he replies, in a daze. For a moment, all he can do is blink at the blinding sun, and the world of pure white. There are barely any buildings. He counts four, not including the brothel. There is a road, or he assumes there is because of the many wagon tracks. It splits off into the trees — the  _ forest _ , so densely packed even in the winter. 

He'd forgotten what it looked like out here. A gust of wind blows by, carrying a flurry of snowflakes. Slowly, he turns to look behind him, behind the brothel. Built onto a hill, his window had looked out to nothing but trees and sky. Beyond that now, beyond the endless furl of wood and pine, he thinks he might see a city. 

A horse whinnies nearby and he turns again, watching as Selene straps her travel bag to the saddle of a great beast. It's nearly taller than her, covered in shaggy blue-gray hair. 

"Oh gods," he gasps, "Please don't tell me —"

"Relax," she chuckles, "She was mine before I even came to your country. You do not have to pay me back for her."

He sighs, relief hitting him so strongly it makes his head fuzzy. 

"Horsey!" Cries Oliver, squirming in his arms, "Papa can I pet it?  _ Please? _ "

"I…" he swallows, glancing towards Selene. 

She shrugs. "I suggest you hold him though, she may get started by something so small."

Eli shudders at the thought. He didn't know much about animals but by the look of the horse's powerful leg muscles, she could probably kick Oliver into the middle of next year. 

Carefully he approaches, wary of those black eyes as he gets closer and closer. "Does she bite?" He asks nervously. 

"All animals will bite if they get frightened," Selene says, running her hands through the horse's mane, "But she is a good girl, she will not try to hurt you. Here —"

Selene takes Oliver's hand, presses it lightly to the horse's neck. His son gasps in delight, "She's so soft!"

Grinning, Selene says, "As is the rest of her breed. You can pet, but stay away from her eyes and mouth. And be gentle."

He nods eagerly, his whole body vibrating with excitement. It's all Eli can do to hold his breath as Oliver drags his hand up and down, toying with the long strands of fur. 

"What's her name?" He giggles

Selene inclines her head, "If I tell you, you must promise not to laugh at me."

"I won't I won't!"

"Very well," she sighs, catching Eli's eye. "In your language, I believe her name is Butterfly."

"Butterfly!" Oliver chimed, "Pretty!"

"Would you like to ride her?" Selene offers. Eli's heart skips a beat, while Oliver's face lights up like a thousand stars.

"Can I, Papa? Can I  _ please _ ?"

"I… don't know," he admits. To Selene, he asks, "Is it safe?"

"As safe as it can get. It was the plan, after all."

"The… the plan?"

She nods. "Forgive me Eli, but you do not seem to have the muscle mass to carry your boy for an entire day. Nor could I reasonably expect a child to walk for as long. This here," Selene grabs something on the saddle, some sort of loop, "will prevent him from falling."

Still he hesitates, staring at the beast that's taller than he is. Oliver squirms, "Please Papa?"

"Okay, alright," he relents and, with Selene's help, hoist Oliver onto the saddle. She wraps the loop around his waist, then ties it to the saddle's crest. 

Vivienne — 

_ Eli _ , he reminds himself.  _ Your name is Eli now  _

Eli can only gape at his son as Selene runs him through the basics. Oliver is beaming, his eyes glittering, as he holds into the horse's neck. He's never looked so happy before. Or at least never so at ease. 

In the thick of it, Eli hadn't been able to see the tension that followed his boy. Always glancing over his shoulder, always cringing away from the smallest glance. But now, now that he's so clearly at ease? 

He's glad they're leaving. 

"I will carry the lead," explains Selene. gesturing to the cord dangling from Butterfly's bridle. "Unfortunately I cannot allow you to man her fully. Perhaps once we arrive I can teach you how to properly ride." She glances at him, meeting his gaze. "The both of you."

Eli flushes a flaming red. "I would like that, Miss."

  
  
  


He doesn't know what to think. The small border post vanishes behind them within a few short minutes, and after that it's just trees and snow. 

Selene and Oliver keep up a steady conversation. He asks her so many questions, one after the other, that Eli considers more than once telling him to hush. He asks her about horses, where they're going, the reason snow falls, and anything in between. Selene though, to her credit, doesn't seem to lose patience even for a second. 

They've been walking for nearly half an hour, his legs already starting to burn, when she slips closer to him to whisper, "Explain your face."

He frowns, "My face?"

"You look… concerned. What bothers you?"

Eli swallows, glancing to the horse. "You don't think I'm going to run?"

She makes a face, "Should I?"

"No, no," he says quickly, "I would never. I just… I half expected you to bind my hands to the saddle."

Selene glances at him, lips pursed. "I have no interest in hauling you cross lands against your will. You are free to take your boy and run at anytime."

"But… we're your slaves. You purchased us — with good money."

"This is true," she sighs, "And I will expect you to obey me and my commands. However I have no intention of tormenting you. And should you ever tire of me, you can take your things and go."

He sputters, eyes wide. "I would never Miss —  _ never _ , I swear."

"I believe you," she whispers, "But I want you to know what to expect from me."

"You know you don't have to coddle me like that. I know the game," Eli murmurs. 

"Game? I did not buy you to…" she trails off, glancing to where Oliver is talking to the horse. "You know. I enjoy your company. You do not have to fear me."

He has nothing to say to that.

_ Am I afraid of her? _

He doesn't want to be. Doesn't have a reason to be. 

And yet… his muscles are tense in a way they never were with her. His heart thundering a rabid beat in his chest. 

_ It's different now _ , he realizes, as sweat beads down his brow.  _ She could kill us if she wanted to. Leave us to starve or freeze in the middle of the woods. _

  
  
  


"My legs hurt!" Oliver whines, "Can I get down now?"

Eli swallows, "Can he, Miss?"

Selene sighs, shields her eyes as she looks towards the setting sun. "Yes. I suppose it is time to set up camp for the night anyways."

The thought of finally being able to sit down sends a throb of pain through his thighs, his ankles. He hasn't been on his feet for this long since — ever, probably. The years of hunger and lying on his back havn't been kind to him. Of course, he hadn't dared show even a flinch of pain as their journey had taken them off the road and through the cluster of trees.

Flexing his fingers, he unties the harness and let’s Oliver slip down into his arms. The boy is shivering despite feeling warm to the touch, and when Oliver shows no eagerness to be on the ground Eli gladly holds him close. 

Even if watching Selene set up camp fills him with a whole new sense of dread. 

_ I should be helping her. _

_ Actually, I should be doing this. I’m the slave here. What good am I if I can’t help my mistress? _

“Would you like some help Miss?” he asks tentatively, breath appearing in clouds before him.

Selene glances at him over her shoulder as she strings the tent from two nearby tree branches . It’s impossible to miss how her eyes flicker between him and Oliver, before she shakes her head dismissively. A shiver runs through him, and it isn’t from the cold.

_ She’s angry. She’s angry that she’s had to inconvenience herself with this. With us. _

“Is there anything I can do?” Eli offers. 

“No thank you.”

The tone isn’t harsh but he still winces at her words. 

Face buried in his neck, Oliver whispers, “I’m hungry.”

Eli shushes him, harsher than he meant to. They can’t risk causing Selene even the slightest bit of trouble. She’s been tolerant thus far, but every person has their limits. Especially when it comes to children that aren’t theirs.

So he stands there like an idiot, muscles quivering, as Selene does everything. Sets up the tent, secures the horse, unloads their packs. 

“No fire tonight. I do not know these woods,” she says. She smacks the snow off her gloves, nearly scaring him off of his feet.

“Yes Miss,” he swallows. “Um… Where will we go?”

Selene cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Are we allowed in the tent with you?”

She stares at him for a long moment, brow pinched. Then her shoulders sag. “Yes. It will be a tight fit but I will not leave you to freeze overnight.”

“Thank you, Miss,” he says. Selene glances away, towards the sky painted in murky pinks and purples.

There’s a long moment of quiet. It eats at him, fear filling his gut like a water bucket. He can be good, he can be an asset, he’s sure of it. He just doesn’t know how to prove it to her. To make sure she doesn’t regret this.

Finally, Selene lets out a long breath, “Let us head inside. It is only going to get colder.”

Eli nods, setting Oliver on the ground and ushering him under the tent. It’s pitched in four different places, some sort of heavy leather material that wholly blocks out the chill. Small as stated, but plenty of room for everyone. He can’t help but sigh in relief as he finally sits, discarding his gloves and coat into a neat pile before helping Oliver with his. 

There’s a small lantern flickering in the nest of fur. It’s plenty light to see by.

“Are we gonna be allowed to eat?” asks Oliver, before Selene had followed them in.

He doesn’t want to say no, doesn’t want to speak ill of their owner when she is definitely still in earshot. Nor does he want to lie. So, draping Oliver’s coat over his shoulders like a blanket, he simply says, “Maybe.”

His son pouts momentarily, a stuffed animal under each arm. “I’m hungry.”

“I know Sunshine. Just be patient.”

Selene slips in then. The flap lifts just enough to show that in the time it took them to get settled the forest has become completely black.

They eat in silence. He’s not even sure Selene heard his thank you for how little she reacts to it. Dried meat and fruit, a few sips of water. It’s slightly less than they would have gotten at the brothel. Not that he mentions this.

“Blankets?” Oli asks when their meal is finished. 

Selene only pats the tent’s floor, covered in different colored fur.

Oliver goes down without a single word of fuss after that, curling into a tiny ball under his coat and layers of fur.

Eli opens his mouth to speak, but before the words leave his mouth Selene says, “He did well today. More well behaved than anticipated.”

“...than anticipated?” he repeats.

She undoes the laces to her boots and slides them off, setting them near the tent flap. “Children, in my experience, are rarely better than rat in terms of behavior. Your boy is the opposite.”

“Thank you, Miss,” he breathes. “I know he can be a little… bothersome with all of his questions. And the whining.”

“He is a child; I expected nothing less.”

“Still, I am grateful for your patience,” he replies. Selene only shrugs and blows out the lanterns, flushing the tent into darkness. 

Though he can barely see his hands Eli still manages to lie down without knocking anything over, pressing himself close to Oliver’s side. Selene is directly next to them; he can tell from her breathing. If he turned his head to the right he could probably kiss her cheek. Sometimes when one of them shifts they brush against each other, and Eli has to swallow an apology more than once.

The air is growing warmer by the second, chasing the chill from his fingers and toes. He touches the tear in his earlobe, grimacing to the dark. It’s still tender, and probably will be for awhile longer. It only adds to the rest of him, he supposes.

“You are awake?” Selene murmurs. He stiffens, then forces himself loose since she can probably feel it.

“Yes Miss.”

A moment of quiet, then, “You fear me.” 

It isn’t a question.

“Yes Miss.”

“You did not before, though.”

“Before, you didn’t own me and my son.”

“I would never hurt him. Or you.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t like the tone of her voice. 

Swallowing, he whispers, “I don’t mean any offense.”

“None taken,” is her answer. It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. He can feel the irritation coming off of her in waves.

Gods, why is he such an idiot?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and, like an even bigger idiot, he rests his hand on her thigh. “I can — I can make it up to you —”

Her hand snaps around his wrist like a vice and he squeaks at the force of it.

“Stop,” comes her hiss, “I told you I would not take a man against his will.”

“This isn’t — I’m not —”

Her grip doesn’t relent even slightly as she pulls his hand away, pressing it to his chest. “Do not lie to me. You have reeked of terror since the moment I stepped into your bedroom. I have no intention of taking you when the only reason you offer is fear.”

She lets him go then. It’s all Eli can do to swallow his tears. “Yes Miss. I’m sorry.”

“... Just go to sleep.”

He can’t, he knows he can’t. 

He wipes his face, takes a steadying breath. “What’s going to happen to us when we get to your house.”

For a moment he thinks she may be ignoring him. When she finally answers it’s with a quiet sigh. “I have not been here in months. It will need cleaning.”

“I can clean,” he offers lamely.

“Good.”

“Will… where will we be sleeping?”

“There are two bedrooms. Most likely in one of those.”

Was that... sarcasm?

“I only ask because I’ve heard stories of slaves not being allowed to sleep inside,” he murmurs.

“Ah. Well, I have no intention of kicking you out to the stoop, so rest easy. I take care of what is mine.”

“Thank you Miss. We appreciate it.”

She snorts, shifting slightly. “I will take your word for it. Goodnight Eli.”

“Goodnight Miss.”

As she falls silent, he can’t help but notice she’s moved further away from them. From him. It hurts in a way it shouldn’t. 

_ I'm such a fucking idiot. _

  
  


He wakes to the tent in complete blackness and bitter cold. The body next to him is scrambling, shifting. There’s a click, then a clink, and a flickering orange light fills the space. Allowing him to see Selene sitting upright, her eyes wild.

“Where is your boy?”

He blinks, mind still fuzzy with sleep. “What?”

She points. He rolls over to where Oliver lies asleep — except he isn’t there. And the tent flap is open, smacking against the wind.

Eli comes fully awake in an instant.

“Oh my gods,” he blurts, “Oh my gods, what —?”

“I woke to the cold and could not see him,” says Selene. She’s already putting on her boots. 

He feels so cold, as if someone has taken his heart and yanked it out of his chest. “Where would he go?” he squeaks. His mind won’t move. It’s as if he’s been drugged, every single thought slow and dragging like molasses. 

“I do not know, but I will find out. Put your coat on,” she commands.

“What?” he repeats, not understanding, not comprehending. Selene twists to face him, face deathly pale.

“Put your gear on immediately. Do you have any idea how quickly a child can freeze in this weather?”

That gets him moving, even as a sense of total vacancy fills him.

Oliver is gone. Gone. Lost in the snow. Is it his fault? It has to be his fault.

“Boots,  _ now _ ,” his owner snarls. He jumps to obey. It’s the only thing he can do. Together they leave the tent, Selene taking the lantern with her. 

There is no moon. There are no stars. She holds the lantern high over the windswept snow, illuminating their little clearing, Butterfly standing, unfazed, nearby.

Selene glances back at the tent, eyes narrow. “He took his gear, but left the toys. He likely meant to come back.”

The wind howls through the trees, their snowy peaks swaying in black shadows. “Why would he even leave in the first place?” Eli asks, shivering as he struggles to button up his coat.

“Perhaps to relieve himself? I do not know. Mind where you step; in weather like this we will be lucky to find any footprints.”

Eli immediately begins scanning the ground. The snow is rippled into tiny layers, sparkling in the light of the lantern. Pure as the sky, save for where they’ve stepped.

“How long — how long could someone last in this?” he asks her.

Selene makes a face. “It depends. I am fit, with weight to spare. I could last an hour, maybe more. You are thinner, so less.

“And a child?”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

Then, “Half an hour, maybe. Your boy is so small he could fall through the snow and get buried.”

Terror burns through him, worse than anything he’s ever felt. Worse than when he got put up for sale, worse than the first time he had looked at Oliver, so small and pink in his arms, and realized that he would be the death of him.

In an instant Eli knows, knows so vividly, that should he die and go to hell, this is what he will face. 

“I see nothing,” Selene calls over the wind.

“I —” he flounders, unable to find his voice.

_ No, no, you can’t do this. You can’t take him from me. _

_ Please, please no. Gods, please let him live. Let him be okay. _

“Wait!” she shouts from the edge of the trees, pointing to a space in the slow.

Eli staggers over, his breath rasping in his throat. The snow stand higher than his boots, bleeding through his pants. He follows her finger to an uneven patch. A small footprint.

A single small footprint.

His heart sinking, Eli asks, “Where are the rest?”

“Swept away, my guess,” Selene replies. She looks off into the forest, the spaces between the trees so impossibly dark. Suddenly, she’s shoving the lantern into his hand. “Hold this.”

“What?” he chokes, “What? Are you — please don’t tell me you’re giving up!”   
  


When she looks at him next her face is a mask of stone. “Not a chance. But I need my hands free for a moment.” 

So he holds the lantern, heart banging in his chest, as Selene unties the horse. She doesn’t seem interested in putting the saddle on, just dusts off the snow and swings up onto Butterfly’s back. “You will stay right here,” she states, pointing to the ground at his feet. “Do not take a step. Do not move. Do not come for me. Give me the lantern.”

He does, nausea ripping through him. 

_ My son, my boy, I should be looking for him, I should be looking for him, I should be looking for him. _

_ This is my fault. What did I say?  _

_ Did I scare him earlier? Is this because I snapped at him? _

She’s so much higher than him, so it’s easy for her to grab a fistfull of his hair and  _ yank _ hard enough to zap him from his thoughts. “Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes Miss,” he stammers, “What — what are you doing?”

“The wind between the trees is not so bad. I suspect I may find more prints further in.”

“Why do I have to stay here?”

Selene takes a deep breath, eyes so fucking wide as she looks back to the woods. “Because I may not be able to find my way back. I need to be able to shout for you, I need to be able to follow your voice back here. Sound won’t carry well through the trees but your boy is little, he has little legs. He would not have gone far.”

Quiet fills his ears. Like the wind has halted for just a moment. Her hand loosens in his hair, going down to his cheek, to his chin. The leather of her glove is soft, well worn.

“Can you do this for me? For your boy?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can.”

“It will be very dark. You may want to run back to the tent to hide. If you do this, you will get as lost as your boy and so will I, do you understand?”

He nods. Tentatively at first, though when her expressions doesn’t waver her tries again, saying, “Yes I understand. I won't move.”

“Swear it to me.”

“I swear I won’t move. Not an inch.”

"Not at  _ all _ ," she snaps, and Eli swallows hard. 

"Yes Miss." 

Selene looks at him for a long moment, the wind whipping through her hair. At last, she lets him go. “I will find him,” she promises, wheeling the horse around. He nods and keeps nodding even when she’s turned away.

_ He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.  _

_ He will be okay. _

Selene disappears behind a pair of trees, the warm glow of her lantern the only indication that she’s there. He sees a flicker of her passing behind another tree, then another, and another. Then he can’t see her at all. Only the lantern as it fades further and further behind the trees. 

And now, he stands in complete blackness. The wind shrieks at his back, nearly strong enough to send him sprawling. 

It’s almost as bad as inside the tent. He can see the snow at his feet only because it’s so white, but that stops after a foot.

He holds his hands to his face, moving slowly, slowly closer until he can see them. He ends up nearly whacking himself in the face.

_ Fuck. _

Off in the distance he sees the familiar flicker of the lantern. It’s so small. So far away. 

How far could Oliver have gotten? 

Or maybe Selene missed him buried in the snow somewhere and road right passed him.

Sweat prickles along the back of his neck, running down his spine beneath the coat. His ears are so cold they ache, and his nose — his nose feels like it may fall off at any minute.

Oliver has to be terrified. Has to be so fucking cold.

_ I should be there _ , he thinks with an edge of bitterness,  _ I should be there. He’s my son, I should be looking for him. _

He looks to the ground, to the tracks Selene left. They’ve been swept away.

_ She’s never going to find him. She’s never going to find him. _

_ He’s going to die because I wasn’t there to help him. _

_ He’s going to die and it’ll be my fault. _

_ He’s going to die cold and scared and it is my fault. _

He wants to follow. More than anything before he wants to follow. Find the footprints, track his son down himself. Selene won’t find him, not without help. 

He should be there helping. He could  _ help _ .

He’s going to help. 

The snow has stacked up against his legs and he shakes it off, takes a single step forward and — 

He freezes. Steps back. 

No, he can’t leave. He swore he wouldn’t leave. Selene is a warrior, a fully trained knight. If she can’t find him then there’s no way in hell some bottom-dollar slut could.

He just has to stay still. Stay still and pray.

He hasn’t prayed in years. Not properly. He can’t pictures the gods now, can’t remember their names. But there are seven, he knows that. So he prays seven times, one for each.

_ Please let him be okay. _

_ Please let him be okay. _

He blows hot air into his hands, covers his face. It hurts to close his eyes .

_ Please let him be okay. _

_ Please let him be okay. _

He switches to his ears, the cold of them burning his fingers even through the gloves. The moisture from his breath immediately freezes on his cheeks. 

It’s hopeless. He just has to block it out.

_ Please let him be okay. _

_ Please let him be okay. _

Glancing to the sky, Eli thinks he can see the stars through the clouds. Or maybe it’s the moon. Just a single spot of less-black against the onyx sky. If it is, there’s still plenty of night left. Hours or bitter cold and unending black.

_ Please let him be okay. _

Something screams over the wind. It sounds like a bird. 

That doesn’t make sense though. Birds are smart, smarter than humans; they wouldn’t be out in this weather.

Then what…

He uncovers his ears. Listens. 

Nothing. 

But — something, another sound, like a cry. And off in the distance he swears he can make out just the smallest, weakest flicker of light. 

The sound comes again. This time he knows it isn’t a bird call. 

He forgets all about the cold.

_ “Eli!” _

His breath catches in his throat. He almost doesn’t believe it, almost calls it a trick of the wind.

_ “Eli!” _

There it is again! And there’s that light, impossibly far away.

Blood rushes to his head, lungs starting to work again. 

_ Gods, please. _

He doesn’t know what to do. Is he supposed to shout back? Is he allowed to shout? 

Well, that’s a stupid question isn’t it?

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Eli takes a deep breath and roars as loud as he can. 

_ “Over here!” _

There’s a moment of silence, the light growing closer and closer. There’s another shout, closer as well, and he returns it. Then he’s just yelling, over and over and over, sometimes words sometimes not. Giving her something to follow. 

_ She found him. She must have found him. _

He wants to cry, wants to fall to the ground and kiss her feet in thanks. But she isn’t here yet, so Eli just keeps on shouting. Until through the ground he feels a rumbling, like a vibration. 

_ Hooves. _

He sees her now, thundering through the trees, lantern swinging. Butterfly skids to a halt, snow spraying, Selene jumping off before the horse has even stopped moving. 

“You found him,” he cries, seeing the shivering form in her arms. “By the gods you found him!”

“Inside,” is her only reply. They dive into the warmth of the tent, Selene setting Oliver down like a precious package. 

Eli feels his relief take a stumble, then drop entirely. He’s curled up so tight, his face is so red and… his nose is actually purple, almost black, parts of his skin flaking and peeling. His lashes, coated in ice crystals, fluttering spasmodically.

“What — what’s wrong with him?” Eli croaks.

“Frostbite. Give me your coat.”

At the order, he rips his coat off. Selene is already doing the same, tucking them around Oliver’s tiny body. Together they pile him with layers of coats and animal pelts until he’s barely more than a head.

“I found him huddled behind a tree,” she says breathlessly, “It saved him from most of the wind. He is very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Eli whispers, horror spearing through him. 

“Very, very lucky. If we can get him warm, he will be fine.”

“But… his face.”

“It will heal,” she snipes, “Lie down with him, hold him, get him warm. I will be back momentarily.”

That’s another order her can obey just fine, dropping to the mat of fabric and furs to pull Oliver as tightly to his body as he can. Letting as much warmth bleed off of his as he can.

“P-papa?” he sputters, eyes barely open.

Eli chokes on a breath. He’d known he was alive, but to hear his voice is a glorious confirmation. “I’m here Sunshine,” he whispers.

“I-I’m sorry… I wasn’t — wasn’t trying to l-leave I just… h-had to pee.”

“It’s alright Oli, it’s all going to be alright,” he assures. Oliver glances to the side, at his stuffed toys left abandoned, and squirms. Eli hushes him, grabbing the animals and stuffing them under the coats. 

Selene returns then, her body dusted with snow, and holds out a small woolen pouch. 

“What is this?” Eli asks as he takes it. It’s like a very small pillow, full of a coarse powder.

“Something from overseas. Chemicals that respond to agitation with heat.”

He must look dumbfounded because Selene sighs, grabs it, and shakes vigorously. "Place it on his chest, on top of one of our coats.”

Taking the bag, Eli can immediately feel the heat. He slides it under the covers, one coat in between it and Oliver, and returns to holding his boy as tightly as possible. Selene ties the tent flap closed, settling herself on Oliver’s otherside.

“I have no idea how long he was out there,” she whispers, “He was barely awake.”

“You got there just in time,” he replies, voice ragged as his relief returns. A slower wave, though it leaves him feeling drunk all the same.

Oliver clings to him, or maybe it's the other way around. Eli can't make himself let go. All he can do is hold his boy and try to quiet the shaking that won't leave him. 

Selene stares at Oliver, at the dark tip of his nose. 

"Is something wrong?" He asks frantically, wondering what she could possibly see that he couldn't. 

"No, no. I just…" she shakes her head as if to clear it. "I have not felt fear like that in a long time."

He blinks in surprise. "Really?”

She nods. “At first… I feared stumbling upon him already… beyond saving. Then I held him in my arms, and our tracks had been blown away. I called for you but you didn’t answer. At least not at first. I thought you had gotten lost too.”

“I’m sorry. I was distracted," he frowns, brushing some of Oliver’s hair from his face. “What would you have done if I had never replied?”

A shadow crosses her face. “What I had to.”

“Which is…?”

She sighs, short and bitter. “I will spare you and your boy the disgusting details, but there was a… backup plan, I suppose. Involving Butterfly and a knife. I am very, very grateful I did not have to use it.”

He goes quiet, Oliver’s breathing the one sound. Eli listens to it like a song, throat dry from screaming, as he watches Selene pull off her gloves and place two fingers on the side of Oliver's throat. 

_ Checking his pulse? _

A new batch of fear slams through him. "What's wrong?"

Calmly, she says, "His heart rate is increasing."

"Is that bad?"

She shakes her head, "It is good. It means his temperature is returning to normal."

He sighs, lying back down. Besides him Oliver wiggles, his frigid little hand coming out to grab for him. 

"Papa—?"

"I'm here Sunshine," he whispers, grabbing the hand between both of his own. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

Oliver groans, squeezes his hand. For a moment all Eli can do is stare at him. Every part of his body pings with  _ thank you, thank you. _

"He may need to be carried tomorrow," Selene goes on, "He will heal, but that is a long way to walk for a child already so weakened."

"I can do it," Eli replies immediately, "He isn't that heavy."

She eyes him skeptically, "Very well. I will not mind assisting, if you need it."

He doesn't know what to say to that. Doesn't know what an appropriate response is.

'The thought of someone else touching my child fills me with more fear than I can express' just doesn't seem right.

So he goes with the age old reply. "Yes Miss."

Even though she quickly looks at the ceiling, Eli can see the emotions flicker over her face. "I told you to call me Selene."

He grimaces. "I can't, Miss."

"You did then."

"That was before."

Whatever was the right thing to say, that's not it. Her jaw twitches, locking into place. It makes his insides clench.

He doesn't like upsetting his owners because he isn't an idiot, but upsetting her… just makes him feel bad. Guilty. Even if he doesn't understand. He finds himself wanting to apologize to make her feel better, not just out of fear 

"Thank you," he says instead. Selene glances at him. He goes on, "For saving him, I mean it. If there's anything I can do, I—"

"Eli," she sighs. 

He bites his lip. "I'm just saying I'm grateful."

Softly, she replies, "I suppose you are welcome."

"I… may I ask why? Why you bought both of us?"

"I do not know entirely," she admits, "But I… found myself unable to accept my part in your eventual death. I had the ability to rescue the both of you, I had the capacity to keep you well, how could I not?"

"... I hope you aren't regretting anything."

A quiet scoff. "Why would I? I told you, enjoy your company."

"Even after everything?"

"Yes, Eli. Even after everything."

Surprisingly, he feels himself flush. "I'm sorry I won't use your name."

"I am sorry you fear me."

There's a sadness to it that he doesn't expect, almost doesn't recognize it. 

"It's not your fault, you know," he says softly. 

Selene pillows her head on her arms, eyes riveted on the ceiling. "I am quite certain that it is."

He bites his lip. "It's not… you I fear. It's what you are."

"What I am?"

"An owner. Not just of me but," he gestures to Oliver, dozing lightly between them. "You could break me to your will with a few well placed words."

"I would never hurt him, or you."

"I… I think I know that. But I'm not used to being really owned," he sighs. "At the brothel I was exchanged left and right, most customers didn't even know I had a son. And Lydia never cared to look at him, she needed me well enough to work. But you.. "

"I could do anything I want with you," Selene murmurs. 

He swallows. "Yeah. I know in my head I don't need to fear you, and then in my heart I see you near my boy and I go into a panic."

"It was not my intention to cause you fear. You have my apologies."

"It isn't your fault."

She makes a thoughtful sound, her expression impassive. He wishes she would look at him. "Have I done anything to prove you were right to fear me?" She inquires.

"Besides buying us? No."

That too, apparently, is the wrong thing to say. Something in her face pinches, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

Slowly, he watches her swallow. Watches her gnaw at the inside of her cheek. Then, slowly, she asks, "Would you rather I had not? Would you prefer it if I had gone with the original plan?"

"No, no, never," he rasps, "I am… I'm grateful for the chance you've given us. Truly. I just… I'm not used to this. I have to get used to it."

Selene nods, but it very clearly has not settled anything. His heart aches. He feels like such an idiot. An idiot and a coward. 

Tentatively, he asks, "What is it?"

"I… I do not know," she admits to the ceiling, "I suppose I should have asked."

"Asked what?"

"If you enjoyed my company. Although I told you you did not have to sell an illusion of love, I suspect you merely switched to a different one."

He doesn't have an answer for that either. Not one to answer all of her questions, at least. Was it real? His eagerness, his enjoyment. He thinks so, but after so long of playing a game he doesn't quite know what's real or not. 

So instead, Eli tells her, "I looked forward to your visits."

"Oh?"

"You were the only one who spoke to me like a person. The only one that didn't demand I roll over and let you, well, you know." He bites his lip. "May I ask why you kept coming back? Or why you even started going there in the first place."

"I started going because I was lonely, " she breathes, "I was kicked out of my country, forced to leave my kin and kind. I kept returning because I… I liked you."

"You… liked me?" He repeats, voice smaller than he would like to admit. 

Selene nods. "The men where I come from are all haughty, harsh. They have to be, my country isn't kind to them. But you… you were soft. Sweet."

Eli finds himself grinning, his heart skipping another three beats. Then his smile dims a bit. "You said  _ liked… _ did I make you stop?"

"No, I still like you. I am just… uncertain."

"Of?"

"How to act around you. How best to alleviate your fears." She looks at him,  _ finally _ , and her face is open. Tender. Like the woman that had bedded him. "May I make a confession, Eli?"

He nods. 

"Part of me enjoy it when you call me Miss."

"Only part of you?"

"I can tell you only do it out of fear. That ruins a significant piece of it."

He frowns, lightly brushing Oliver's hair off of his face. "May I make a confession, Miss?"

Selene lifts a brow. "By all means."

"I think you'll be good for my boy," he says softly, "I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not… the most confident creature out there. Or the strongest, or the smartest. I think being around you will do him some good."

"Eli," she breathes. There's a roughness to her voice, a break in the word. "While I will help if I can, I do not know how to raise a child."

He can't help but snort, "You think I do? I would never ask you to be a babysitter, but I do think having you around will make him better. At the very least, it should make him feel safer."

She looks away again and maybe he's imagining it, but he could have sworn the corners of her lips have turned up. 

"I hope one day we can continue where we left off," she says quietly. 

"What, playing cards?" He teases. 

When Selene chuckles in response, he feels part of him loosen. 

"If that is what you would like. I really just meant being able to talk, like this. None of that 'speak only when spoken to' nonsense."

"I would like that," he replies, and that's definitely a smile on her face now. 

Slowly Selene reaches across Oliver's cluster of covers— for his hand. He flinches out of habit, breath catching in his throat. When he next opens his eyes Selene is still waiting there. Hand outstretched. 

Eli bites his lip, takes her hand against her better judgment. 

She runs her thumb over his knuckles, holding gently enough that he knows he can escape if he has to. Eli lets out a sigh, his muscles finally starting to loosen. 

"Are we supposed to let him sleep after something like that?" He whispers, noticing Oliver's steady breathing. 

"Normally, no. But he seems like he has come away from the edge."

Eli nods a bit, letting out a small breath. 

Gods, the marks on his face were terrible. He could only hope they wouldn't leave too much of a mark. That would be something he would never forgive himself for. 

"You should rest as well, you know," says Selene.

He gives her a wry, uncertain smile. "Is that an order?"

"Consider it a… hearty suggestion."

Laughing softly, Eli slips under the tower of coats and furs to be closer to his son. "What will happen when we get to your cottage tomorrow?"

"You have already asked me this, Eli."

"I'm not talking about the cleaning. I’m talking about… us. You and I?"

"What about us?"

He grimaces, watching Oliver as he sleeps. "How will we proceed? What will you expect of me?"

"Well… I will never ask you to debase yourself. No foot licking, no begging. At least not in front of the little one," she adds with a wink. His body goes hot all over. "You probably do not know how to cook, so I will leave the cleaning to you."

"I don't know how to clean either," he mumbles.

"You can learn. It's easier than cooking."

Hesitantly, Eli quietly asks, "What if I can't?"

"Can't what?"

"Learn," he whispers, "What if I can't learn?"

Her eyes flicking to him once more, Selene slowly tilts her head. "Then we will figure something out. I do not see why you would not be able to, though."

"Just, hypothetically. Where will that leave me in your household?"

She stares at him for a long minute, long enough that his heart starts to pound louder and louder. "You fear I will get rid of you. Is that it?"

"Something like that," Eli swallows, looking away. 

"Well, I… I did not buy you for your domestic prowess. If you cannot clean, if you prove to be useless at housework, then we will find something else for you. I will not be getting rid of you anytime soon."

She's speaking firmly again, in the way that mostly made him want to shrivel away and hide. Not now, though. 

Carefully, he says, "You promise?" 

She squeezes his hand. "I do. The only way you will be leaving my care is of your own volition."

Slowly, he releases his breath. "Okay. Okay, I believe you."

"No, you do not," Selene sighs. "But you will. It's alright, I can wait." 

Like so many times before, Eli doesn't have an answer. He has no idea what to say to this strange, strange woman that can see right through him. Has no idea what to do with her, how to please her. He hopes he's what she wants, hopes that she wants him enough to put up with his ineptitude. And Oliver.

More than anything, though, he really just hopes she still likes him. Because, while he doesn't yet have the courage to admit it out loud, he thinks he may like her. 

And most of him knows she would never hurt his son. He's unable to reconcile that thought with his own safety, at least not yet. But he can accept that she probably wouldn't hurt Oliver. Not after she rode off into the snow like that.

"We need to sleep," Selene says, "And that is an order this time."

"Yes Miss," he replies. She lets go of him to put out the candle, and for a moment all is still. The wind still whistles outside, lightly rocking the tent from side to side. It's peaceful though, monotonous.

He jumps when a hand takes his again. Selene laughs, quietly, fondly. "Easy, it is only me."

"Sorry, still not used to being touched like this," he admits.

"That is alright. We will get you there." Her thumb brushes his knuckles again, squeezing gently. Oliver grumbles in his sleep, stretching out. Eli can't help but hiss as his still-cold toes touch his skin. 

Selene hums a little laugh, as if she knows what happened, and whispers, "Goodnight Eli."

"Goodnight Miss."

Then it's silent. He won't be able to sleep right, if at all, he knows that. Not with the panic and terror of earlier still sloshing through his veins. It's alright though. He spends the night clutching his son close, holding Selene's hand. 

In between sessions of dozing, he mouths her name. 

_ Selene.  _

_ Selene. _

And right then, it didn't seem so impossible to say. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://tak138.tumblr.com/)


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